


You Look So Fine (I Really Wanna Make You Mine)

by cunning_capra



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Gen, Horny Teenagers, Humor, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Teenagers, Thirsty Dimitri, friends help friends not be disaster children, hot for teacher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-24 00:29:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20349355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cunning_capra/pseuds/cunning_capra
Summary: Dimitri doesn't really know how to feel about his new Professor's revealing clothing. Still, he can't look away.Everyone notices.





	You Look So Fine (I Really Wanna Make You Mine)

Dimitri has always prided himself on his work ethic, but these conditions... are just cruel.

His foot taps anxiously against the classroom floor, and he's struggling to keep up with his notes. He's not a bad student. He gets good grades and usually excels at tests. He just. Hadn't expected the Officer's Academy to be so...stimulating.

His concentration wavers from the blackboard, and finds his eyes and thoughts, wandering elsewhere.

Because saints. The Professor's clothing is revealing. He doubts there's any tactical advantage to how much stomach and chest and leg that is exposed, so it must be personal choice. He knows better than to stare. Or at least he should know. His eyes seem to follow her as she meanders the classroom, still explaining the concepts and tactics they'd executed during their last battle. He wishes he could at least keep his eyes on her face. He knows he's hardly the first to be distracted by a pretty girl, but he still has to duck behind a hand to hide the blush that threatens to rise up.

The Professor arches an eyebrow at him from the front of the classroom and he tries and fails to snap to attention.

He is stuck in a loop. Of wanting to gain her trust, her friendship. Of wanting to impress her. Of staring at her powerful thighs and exposed midriff.

He thinks he might like to hold her hand. He thinks he'd like to talk late into the night with her, trading secrets. He thinks he'd like to push her into that desk of hers and kiss her...

He thinks he might be in love.

He finds himself wistfully thinking he'd like to kiss her stomach.

And god, what kind of animal has he become to think this way of a person? Let alone his professor.

He tries to keep his eyes on his work when she passes by his desk, but his traitorous eyes follow her legs as she goes. They trace the intricate lace of her tights and the soft skin and hardened muscle underneath.

“Is everything alright, Dimitri?” The Professor asks, pulling him aside after class , “ You seem...preoccupied.”

He flushes hot with shame. He hates that his thoughts are always with her, that he is leaning subconsciously forward on his toes to be closer to her. He adores her, he _respects_ her...

“It's...” _you you you, always you_, “Nothing, professor. I'm sorry to have worried you.”

“It's my job to worry, “ she says softly, eyebrows creasing ,and he wants to reach out and cup her cheek and kiss the tension out of her jaw, her mouth.

But this is hardly appropriate. And undoubtedly unrequited.

He lingers at the doorway to the classroom and wonders if he's crowding her space, wasting her time. Bothering her, even.

“I'm alright, “ He assures her guiltily, “Just a lot on my mind. Forgive me for letting it wander.”

She gives him a curious look, eyes lingering on his face, and their fingers brush for but a moment, and then she nods, and is off in a twirl of her cloak, leaving him trembling in her wake.

* * *

“What do you think of the professor?”

The dorm is quiet at this hour, all students gathered down at the dining hall. The remnants of a meal sits on his desk, where Dedue is dutifully going over classwork.

Dimitri is fighting off the tension of an oncoming headache, head back against his pillow, sighing as he closes his eyes against the dying sunlight. His mind is elsewhere, in another room. With another person.

“Your highness. If I may....She may look young, but judging by today's lecture on field tactics, and our victory at the Battle of The Eagle and Lion...” He gives a long pause, and flips another page of his notes, “It all points towards her being a reliable instructor.”

“Yes, I've come to a similar conclusion,” Dimitri responds distractedly, fidgeting with the stitching on his high necked collar, “But...What do you _think _of her?”

This seems to give Dedue pause. He turns in his seat to look at the prince, reclining stiffly against his bed sheets, frowning up at the ceiling.

“Your highness...Has something roused your suspicions? For I will act as your shield and cast her out if she lays but even one finger on you.”

Dimitri sits up abruptly. His stomach is twisting anxiously, and he takes a deep breath.

“You are a good friend, and a stalwart companion, but Dedue...have you. Have you seen what she's _wearing_?”

He can't even spare Dedue a glance. Not when his friend is being _mature_, and _serious,_ and showing nothing but concern for him, _while he's been having conniptions over a bellybutton_.

A hint of amusement crawls across Dedue's face as they finally make eye contact.

“Your highness?”

“I'm. Hardly sure that amount of exposed skin is entirely appropriate for a woman in her position. For the goddess's sake, Dedue, the majority of her leg coverage is translucent, her collar bones are visible through her ah, chest piece, and she...well... her stomach is showing.”

“Yes I had noticed, your highness.”

“Well. That. That hardly seems allowed!” Dimitri says, flushing hotly and trying not to think of the Professor.

A part of him doesn't want to stop thinking of the Professor.

“I find it prudent to remind you, that the professors' dress code seems rather lax.” Dedue responds gently, looking a tad bemused, “Perhaps... this is a conversation better suited to Sylvain's expertise?”

“What? No.” Dimitri composes himself. Deep breathes. In and out, “It's of no consequence. Just a passing thought and was just wondering. If um. You. Found it to be of any note.”

“I had not, your majesty. However...” And Dimitri definitely sees the smile now, wry and teasing behind the usual veneer of stoicism, “If you deem it of import, perhaps I should observe or inquire upon the subject the next time I cross paths with the Professor?”

“Oh saints, _no_, “ Dimitri breathes, turning a dangerous shade of red, “Dedue. As your dear friend, please do not...just do not. I beg of you.”

“If your highness wishes it.” Dedue chuckles and returns to his work while Dimitri buries his face in his hands.

* * *

Sylvain's help comes anyways, regardless of wanting it or not.

“Have you had a crush on the Professor for long, Dimitri?” Mercedes asks him one day, while he sups in the dining hall with his classmates.

“You what???” Sylvain splutters, soup spilling on the table top.

Dimitri's of half a mind to stalk off, but he sucks in a deep breath and motions to them to quiet down.

“What gives you that impression?” He asks Mercedes, hoping his voice sounds calmer than he feels.

His heart is racing in his chest. He can see the Professor just out the door, overlooking the fishing pond and he'd rather perish here and now than let her overhear this conversation.

“Well, I simply thought it was common knowledge is all,” Mercedes says blithely, mouth quirking into a smile, “You two certainly are close after all.”

Sylvain smiles wickedly and Dimitri propels himself to say something, _anything, _before the demon can even open his mouth to spew forth any advice.

“I am the house leader – It is expected that I have close ties with the professor in charge of our house.”

“Hmm.” Mercedes says, and then she smiles like she knows something he doesn't.

Dimitri doesn't like that one bit.

Sylvain catches him after dinner, despite many excuses and a walk that turns into a jog. He bypasses the Professor altogether and makes it all the way to the greenhouse before Sylvain tackles him, throwing an arm roughly around his shoulders, and steering him back towards the pond.

“Oh no you don't.” He laughs, “Let's go greet our dear Professor”

“Sylvain,” Dimitri says warningly, twisting out of his embrace.

“There's nothing to be embarrassed of,” Sylvain tells him, ducking and grabbing for his childhood friend, “It's sweet! And its not like we haven't all thought about it. The difference is, you're going to act on it.”

“No. I am not.” Dimitri grumbles, as he is forced to sit on a bench where they can watch the Professor, talking with Annette at length, “And you're not going to say anything to her about this either.”

“Won't I?” Sylvain laughs, letting Dimitri go when he stops showing signs of resistance, “I suppose not. But It's endearing, to see the teacher's pet flustered over a little exposed thigh.”

It's her stomach actually. The strong plane of it, muscled and tempered and still so soft. It's more than he can bear to admit however, and he slumps forward with an annoyed groan.

“That's. Hardly the issue.” He grounds out, looking at his feet.

“Isn't it?” Sylvain hums, “Listen I get it. You're seventeen and you've just had your sexual awakening. The Professor is hot, what can I say.” He shrugs and pats Dimitri patronizingly on the shoulder.

“Aren't you a little young to be acting like an old pervert?” A voice calls out, and Dimitri is suddenly reminded they're having this conversation in public.

Ingrid emerges from the greenhouse, looking appropriately scandalized.

Dimitri wishes he had never been born.

“You wound me,” Sylvain says, smiling, “I'm only imparting wisdom to the unenlightened.”

She rolls her eyes, and squishes into the space between the two of them, pushing Sylvain deftly aside to make room.

“Don't listen to him, your highness.” Ingrid says, leaning in, “I think you should take your time and do things when you're ready. Be a gentleman. Take it slow, and I'm sure the Professor will be willing to hear you out. Don't. Listen to this skirt chaser.” She punctuates this by pinching Sylvain's cheek.

“Ow! I wasn't trying to lead him astray” Sylvain cuts in, pushing Ingrid off, “In fact, I wanted to know what he even feels about the professor – he still hasn't even confirmed our suspicions!”

They both turn to him expectantly, and he swallows thickly,.

“This isn't appropriate.” He says, eyes glancing up to see that the Professor is no longer outside the dining hall. The hot afternoon is turning to muggy evening, and his hands are sweating in his gloves.

“But you do...have feelings for her, don't you?” Ingrid asks.

“I...”

He thinks of the pads of his fingers touching hers, there in the classroom after the lecture. The way he feels warm and focused when their eyes meet. The twitch of her mouth when she tries not to smile over tea. The hard strike of her arm against his side when they meet in the training hall- muscles flexing, sweat along her brow, chest laboring with exertion.

He wants to hold her, to tell her all the trappings of his heart, let her know the core of who he is and why he is.

“Of course he does,” Sylvain says, cutting off his train of thought, “Just look at him. Have you seen him in class?”

“I do.” Dimitri says, voice hoarse. He refuses to look at them. “I do care for her. A great deal.”

Sylvain whoops and ruffles his hair. Ingrid smiles and pats his back.

* * *

If anything, after confessing to two of his oldest friends, the problems just become worse.

Sometimes, he wakes in the middle of the night panting, recalling the edges of a dream. The Professor smiling down at him, her mouth slotting against his, her hands at his jaw...

He lies there, those nights, and closes his eyes. Pretending she's there beside him. Thinking of the way he'd hold her. How she'd feel in his arms, her skin on his...

In some ways, it gets easier after saying something out loud.

He's able to look The Professor in the eye without shaking uncontrollably. Without wanting to apologize for what he feels.

In a way he's succumbed to pining. To the pull and twist of unrequited feelings. And he's almost satisfied. He still trains with the Professor one on one. Watches the way her muscles tense and release, the way her body moves in the heat of battle. He still lingers after class on Monday's to ask questions, to talk about the future.

He has taken to walking her to her next destination sometimes. He thinks about taking her hand, or kissing her goodbye, but he doesn't.

He's buoyant when he's with her. His heart fluttering in his chest. He feels full, and warm and alive.

He's surprised, however, when she touches him. It's gentle, almost unthinking. She will smooth out the front of his uniform, fingers trailing slowly across his chest. Or sweep his bangs aside when she joins him in the library. And something comes loose in him. His hand finds hers for but a moment. Or he stares too long or smiles too wide.

He thinks she's knows, but well.

Their time will come.

Dimitri is no stranger to patience.


End file.
